


Father, Daughter

by ordinarylittleme



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 20:57:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18018308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ordinarylittleme/pseuds/ordinarylittleme





	Father, Daughter

_Father_.

That's what Edward calls him. What he thinks of him as. She laughs as she adjusts her veil in the mirror in front of her, crossing her legs. He's not a father. Father's don't rip their daughters' throats out. They don't damn their children - or childe, if she's being precise - to lives of darkness and blood. Fathers don't...don't do anything Carlisle did. She'd begged him to let her die. She _should_ have been dead. But now she's stuck in limbo, chafing at the authority of a man not nearly as kind or compassionate or _anything_ he's been hailed as. She runs a finger along the bruises on her legs, forever marring her skin.

 _He wants to think of himself as a father?_ The thought makes her scoff as she zips up the wedding dress she'd stolen from the home which should've been hers. She blows the mirror a kiss as she checks her reflection: blonde waves, cascading down her back, red plump lips and glittering red eyes. He'd have been so _very_ disappointed in her, if he knew what she was planning to do; wait, no, Edward would have snitched. Edward always reports everything she's thinking back to Carlisle. Those _bastards_ she was going to kill tonight...she'd make it slow. They were the entire reason she's what she is today. Before she realizes what she's doing, her fist has already come in contact with the glass. With a deep sigh, she silently runs out of the room and staircase, only sparing one glance back at her now fragmented reflection.

Only to find Carlisle standing at the door.

"Rosalie," he murmurs, taking a small step towards her, his hand outstretched, "Edward heard what you were planning. I asked him to tell me. Don't get upset at him. Will...will you not return afterwards?" He actually looks worried, he looks like he'd be the sort of person who'd bite his nails at this sort of moment as a human. _Interesting_. She runs her tongue along her lips, leering. Yet he continues speaking in that calm voice of his. She hates it with her entire being. Why can't he shout, whisper, say anything in _any other tone_ other than the kind-doctor act he puts on for all his little patients? She isn't a patient. She doesn't need patronizing tones of faux-sympathy. "I am your creator...I'm responsible for you and your well being now." She watches him struggle to find the next words. "I wouldn't ever stop worrying about what happened to you. I understand you are angry at me, and those... _animals_ who hurt you. You have very good reasons to be. But you can't ever take this back. You have a long time to live with the devils within you."

She looks nearly relenting, but then she laughs, cold and bitter and harsh, and says, "You should have thought of that, _Carlisle_." She will not call him Father. He will never earn that right. _Her_ father has long since been buried and she's already berating herself for breaking that rule: not to talk to the Cullen patriarch. He might have that soft, apologetic demeanor that made it nigh impossible to stay angry at him but she hasn't forgotten his role in her transformation. "Oh, and Carlisle? That advice is _rich_ , coming from you."

Then she's gone.


End file.
